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Equimotional Performance Coaching, Canterbury (2026)

10/02/2026

I went to the yard at 7pm tonight.
Head torches back out for the first time in a while because, of course, the lights weren’t working.

The rain was something else.
Not gentle. Not romantic.
Full-on, sideways, soak-you-through rain.
The kind that finds its way down your neck and into places you didn’t even know were exposed.

Thanks February.
Thanks so much.

And yet…

There’s something about those evenings.
The ones no one sees.
The ones where it’s dark and wet and inconvenient and absolutely nobody would blame you for wishing you were at home.

The yard feels different at night.
Quieter. Slower. More honest.
Just you, the horses, the sound of rain on roofs, the soft chewing, the warmth of breath in cold air.

No performance.
No rush.
No one watching.

Head torch beams bouncing off steam rising from backs.
Muddy boots.
Cold hands wrapped around warm necks.

And somewhere in all that chaos and discomfort…
your nervous system exhales.

It’s fun not because it’s easy ...
but because it’s real.
Because it asks something of you.
Because it pulls you out of your head and into your body.

For a while, there’s nothing else to think about.
Just hay nets, water buckets, familiar faces and quiet routines.

You leave soaked, tired, and smelling vaguely of horse and rain…
but lighter than when you arrived.

So yes.
Dark. Wet. February doing February things.

Still wouldn’t swap it. 🐴🌧️✨

10/02/2026

Some love doesn’t leave.
It just changes shape.

Sometimes it sits quietly at the edge of your sleep.
Sometimes it shows up in the still moments
in the silence,
in the ache,
in the spaces where they used to be.

You don’t always see it.
But it’s there.
In the memories that rise without warning.
In the comfort that finds you when you didn’t ask for it.
In the way your heart knows it was deeply loved.

There is no rushing grief.
No timetable for missing someone.
No right way to carry love that had to go ahead of you.

If love could speak, it wouldn’t ask you to hurry.
It would only whisper:
I’m still here. I’m still yours. Take your time.

And somehow…
that’s enough to keep going. 🤍

10/02/2026

When I’m injured…
“Ah. It’s fine.”
“Probably just slept funny.”
“Give it a minute.”
“I’ll walk it off.”
continues life with a limp and questionable life choices

When my horse is injured…

🚨 CANCEL EVERYTHING 🚨
Ring the vet.
Ring the farrier.
Ring anyone who has ever met a horse.
Check Google.
Re-check Google.
Spiral.
Stare at them intensely.
Analyse every step like it’s an Olympic sport.
Question every decision I’ve ever made.

“She looked at me differently.”
“That step was… off.”
“Do you think she’s thinking sore thoughts?”

Meanwhile the horse is stood there like:
👁👄👁
“What?”

Horse people:
Walking around with untreated injuries.
Running fully equipped emergency response units for their animals.

10/02/2026

Someone once asked me what it’s really like to own a horse.

So I tried to explain…
but words felt inadequate.

Instead, I demonstrated.

I got blown on.
Not kissed.
Blown.
Face full of snot, no warning, no apology.

I wore hay. Everywhere.
In my hair.
In my bra.
In my car.
Some of it may still be with me from 2017.

I lost all concept of personal space.
Being stood on, leaned on, nudged, head-butted and breathed on is now considered normal.
Privacy is a myth. Boundaries are optional.

I handed over my money.
All of it.
Repeatedly.
For things I don’t understand but have learned to nod seriously about
“yes, that rug is necessary”
“of course that supplement makes sense”

I reorganised my entire life around feed times, turnout, weather forecasts and whether Mercury is in retrograde or the horse feels weird today.

I cancelled plans.
I arrived late.
I left early.
Because the horse might need me.
Or might not.
But what if.

I learned that mud is not seasonal.
It is a lifestyle.
That clean clothes are purely theoretical.
That cars become mobile tack rooms.
And that no matter how nice you look when you leave the house,
you will always see everyone you’ve ever met when you look your worst.

I became emotionally invested in an animal who
✔ ignores me
✔ bankrupts me
✔ regularly humiliates me in public
✔ and occasionally makes me cry

And yet…

I’d walk barefoot through a bog for them.
I’d choose them every time.
I’d defend them like a feral goblin.
I’d sell a kidney before I sold the horse.

And tomorrow?

I’ll do it all again.
Happily.
Voluntarily.
With snacks in my pocket and hay in my hair.

Because horse ownership isn’t a hobby.
It’s a diagnosis.
And recovery is not an option. 🐴💸🤡

10/02/2026

January was survival mode.
Curling inward. Resting when you could. Doing the bare minimum and calling that a win.

February was the in-between.
Still tired. Still quiet. But beginning to feel again.
Not ready to move… just ready to notice.

And thinking about March.
Not a sprint. Not a sudden glow-up.
Just a gentle standing up. A stretch. A small step toward light.

We’re taught that growth should be dramatic.
That we should flip a switch and suddenly feel “better”.

But this is how it actually happens.
Slowly. Softly. In phases.

If you’re only just finding your feet, you’re not behind.
If your energy is returning in dribs and drabs, that’s normal.
If you’re still half-winter, half-spring… that’s exactly where you’re meant to be.

You don’t bloom overnight.
You thaw.

Let the thought of March be kind.
Let it be spacious.
Let it meet you where you are.

You’re not late.
You’re seasonal 🌙🌱

10/02/2026

The final purge of the Year of the Horse 🐴🔥

If you’re feeling tired…
emotional…
snappy…
Nostalgic
clearing people, habits, and whole energy fields like a yard clear-out on a windy day…

Congratulations.

You’re not “losing it.”
You’re shedding it.

This is the end-of-cycle energy where:
– patience runs thin
– tolerance disappears
– truth gets louder
– and what no longer fits gets shown the door (sometimes without a polite explanation)

The Horse doesn’t do half measures.
It asks for honesty.
Freedom.
Alignment.

So if you’re suddenly:
– less available
– less accommodating
– less willing to carry what isn’t yours

That’s not burnout.
That’s clarity.

Rest when you need to.
Cry if it comes.
Say no without a footnote.
Let things fall away.

You’re not breaking down.
You’re making space.

And what’s coming next needs you lighter, not nicer. ✨🐎

10/02/2026

It’s that moment before the coffee kicks in where your tolerance for nonsense is… nonexistent.
Where your nervous system is like “absolutely not today” and your boundaries arrive before your manners.

This is why we need a cup of f**koffee.

Not for the caffeine (although yes).
But for the attitude.
The psychological shield.
The internal memo that says “handle with care.”

A cup of f**koffee is:
– choosing not to engage
– declining the drama
– returning other people’s chaos to sender
– and remembering you don’t owe anyone access to your peace before 9am

It’s not anger.
It’s clarity.

The kind that says:
– I don’t need to explain myself
– I’m not fixing what I didn’t break
– and I’m allowed to exist without being palatable

Some days call for softness.
Other days call for boundaries, humour, and a strong brew with zero tolerance.

So sip your f**koffee.
Protect your energy.
And move through the day accordingly ☕😌

10/02/2026

This is one of my favourite reminders ....because it flips the whole script.

Bullies want reaction.
They want shrinking, apologising, explaining, changing yourself to fit their comfort.

This kid does none of that.

“You’re weird.”
— Yep.

“You’re a nerd.”
— Absolutely.

“Your clothes don’t match.”
— Correct.

“I’m having a party and you’re not invited.”
— Thank GOD.

That’s not arrogance.
That’s self-trust.

There’s something quietly powerful about not needing approval from people who don’t get you. About realising you don’t have to argue with someone else’s opinion of you. You don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to tone yourself down to be palatable.

Confidence doesn’t always look loud.
Sometimes it looks like calm acceptance.
Sometimes it looks like humour.
Sometimes it looks like choosing yourself and walking away.

And honestly?
The people who are most “too much”, “too weird”, “too different” as kids…
often grow into the most interesting, compassionate, creative adults.

So if this resonates .... keep being you.
Let them talk.
You’ve got better places to be.

10/02/2026

Hay Maths (Horse Person Edition)

Normal maths:
2 + 2 = 4

Hay maths:
2 bales = anxiety
4 bales = mild relief
10 bales = still not enough
20 bales = “we’re ok… for now”

Hay maths also includes:

• “If it’s windy, they’ll waste more”
• “If it rains, that one bale doesn’t count”
• “If one horse looks at it funny, add another”
• “If winter exists, double everything”

A bale that looks full is actually: • half a bale
• minus wastage
• minus that one pony who eats like a shredder
• minus the one who sleeps in it

So when someone says: “That should last ages!”

What they mean is: “That will last until Tuesday.”

Hay maths is doing full financial projections in your head while standing in mud at 7am.
It’s calculating forage per horse, per day, per weather event, per mood.

It’s knowing exactly how much hay you have…
and still worrying you don’t have enough.

This is not overthinking.
This is advanced equestrian economics.

Respect the maths.
Protect the hay.
Never speak lightly of bale numbers. 🌾🐎

10/02/2026

I don’t think The NeverEnding Story had any business being marketed as a children’s film… because it absolutely rewired a generation of us.

The message was quietly profound and deeply unsettling: when people lose hope, stop dreaming, or stop believing they matter ...the Nothing grows.

As a kid, I didn’t have the language for that.
I just knew it felt important. And terrifying.

Let’s talk about the wolf.
Not just scary ... existentially scary.
Gmork wasn’t a jump scare villain.
He spoke calmly. Intelligently.
He explained despair.

That scene lodged itself somewhere deep in my nervous system.
The idea that hopelessness wasn’t loud ... it was quiet.
Logical. Persuasive.
And that it could swallow entire worlds.

(I couldn't sleep for years thinking there was a wolf under my bed - true story. A never ending story pahhhh🤣🤣🤣)

And then… the horse scene.

If you’re an equestrian, you know.
You don’t need it describing.

Watching a horse sink while the world kept moving on?
That wasn’t just sad ... it was formative trauma.

So many of us learned, right there, that love doesn’t make you immune to loss.
That caring deeply can hurt.
That you can beg, scream, try everything… and still not save someone you love.

Honestly?
I think that moment shaped a whole generation of horse people. It taught us empathy early.
It taught us that connection comes with responsibility.
And that hope sometimes needs action, not just belief.

Looking back now ... as adults, parents, carers, therapists, horse people ....the message hits even harder.

Dreaming isn’t childish.
Hope isn’t naive.
Imagination isn’t escapism.

They are protective factors.

Because when we stop dreaming…
When we numb out…
When we decide it doesn’t matter…

That’s when the Nothing grows.

And maybe that’s why so many of us ended up with horses. Why we cling to connection. Why we fight so hard for meaning, care, and gentleness in a world that often tells us not to.

We were warned early. By a flying luck dragon. A terrifying wolf. And a horse who tried so hard for his person....

And honestly? I’m still listening. 🐴✨ (to the song...thanks stranger things for bringing it back to life!)

Meme credit to: Horror That Rocks

10/02/2026

Ah yes… the 3am brain meeting.
No agenda.
No solutions.
Just vibes and self-doubt.

Lying there replaying conversations from 2016 like:
“Did I sound weird?”
“Why did I say that?”
“Am I secretly terrible?”
“Should I move countries and change my name?”

Meanwhile the person you’re spiralling over is:
– asleep
– unbothered
– probably snoring
– and definitely not thinking about you

There is not one single human worth sacrificing your sleep, sanity, or sense of self for.
Not your boss.
Not your ex.
Not Susan from work with the tone.
Not that one comment you misread.

Your brain is just freelancing again.
Unpaid.
Unqualified.
Overconfident.

So roll over.
Hydrate.
Remind yourself you’re actually fine.
And if your mind insists on drama, tell it office hours are tomorrow.

You are good enough.
Even at 3am.
Especially when tired. 😴✨

10/02/2026

Sometimes what we label as overthinking isn’t weakness, drama, or a character flaw.

It’s your nervous system doing its job.
Scanning. Checking. Trying to keep you safe based on what it’s learned before.

If you’ve been hurt, overwhelmed, rushed, or left to figure things out alone, your mind learns to stay alert. To run scenarios. To think ahead. To prepare for what might go wrong ..... just in case.

That doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.
It means something in you is asking for reassurance, steadiness, and safety.

Instead of telling yourself to “stop overthinking,” try asking: What does my mind need right now to feel safe enough to rest?

Gentleness.
Clarity.
Boundaries.
Slowing down.
Support.

You don’t need to fight your mind.
You need to listen to it ... and then meet it with compassion.

Safety quiets thoughts far more effectively than criticism ever will 🤍

Equimotional Performance Coaching

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